


If You Swallow the Pain

by LunarAsylum



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Death, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mall Shooting, Single POV, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 08:37:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2686316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunarAsylum/pseuds/LunarAsylum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel and Dean have met on a chance of instances, which have led them to the happiest point in their life. What happens when the instance goes sour?</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Swallow the Pain

Rays of sunshine glared through the gaps in the blinds, becoming the unwanted alarm to ice blue eyes. Groaning, the owner of those eyes rolled onto his side, facing away from the window in attempts to escape the light, but to no avail. Sunlight happened to hit alarm clock just at the right angle to point directly in his face.

 

“Fuck it,” he mumbled to himself, pulling the comforter over his head with a groan as he hid from the world. It was going to be a boring day as always. Unsurprisingly enough, working in a cell phone store in a mall was not all that entertaining. Busy, but not entertaining. Heaving a sigh, a single aqua eye peered from behind the blanket to read his digital clock.

 

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, rolling onto his back and haphazardly throwing his blanket down past his waist, bare skin being greeted by the frigid air of his bedroom. It was the only way he knew he'd actually get out of bed. Swinging his legs to the side, he slid along his sheet and ended up in a sitting position as he scowled at the window. He needed better curtains.

 

His feet inched their way to the floor, making contact and earning a hiss at the cold that greeted the bottoms of his feet. He moved swiftly to the bathroom, tip toeing parts of the way to avoid the cold floors. Landing safely on the microfiber red carpet of his bathroom, he swept back the shower curtain and leaned over the tub with care not to touch the freezing porcelain.

 

With a twist of the metal handle, water poured from the faucet, and he tested it with a few fingers until it reached the warmth he desired. Pulling the curtain mostly closed, he pulled up the lever to ignite the shower head, satisfied with the pause and then downpour of water from the spigot. Shimmying out of his boxers, he slid between the curtain, plastic liner and tile wall, greeted with the imitation of warm rain.

 

Releasing a breath of relief, he relaxed into the cascading warmth, letting it ease and wake up his muscles. He rolled his shoulders, a few quiet pops of his joints greeting his ears through the shower. Raising his arms, he ran his hands through his his, effectively soaking it. He always had to do this, otherwise his hair would never get fully soaked.

 

Dean had always complimented him on his thick hair, which the brunette had often complained never needed styling. 'You roll out of bed that way!' he had said once, and it was true. He had gifted hair, but their were times when it was more trouble than it was worth, like when you were trying to style it. It often proved to be an ineffective attempt at taming it. His boyfriend had once referred to him as Harry Potter, without the curse and glasses. He still had no idea what that meant, despite the Winchester's many cries of 'How do you not know what Harry Potter is?'.

 

He was a bit of a hermit when it came to society, but Dean was slowly coaxing him out into the world, and he was more than willing to do so, for him. The younger man made things seem so much more enjoyable, and that maybe all of society's obsession with celebrities and 'pop culture', as they called it, wasn't as overbearing as it seemed. The Winchester had shown him some great things after they had met, which had been a complete accident in the first place.

 

It was a bit of an awkward story to tell, if anyone (like Dean's brother Sam) asked. They had met in a cemetery, where neither of them had really been paying attention to their surroundings, and simply meandering back to their respective cars from the graves they'd been visiting. He had been the one to run into the younger, mostly focusing on the names engraved on the tombstones, ones that he had memorized, but they had him mesmerized.

 

He had apologized profusely, to which the brunette had responded it was alright, and that had caused him to finally look up. From then on, he had been mesmerized by the Winchester. They had gone on from the cemetery, deciding to get a drink, and oddly enough, discuss why they had both been at the graves, and who they'd been visiting. There on, it progressed into dates and phone calls, and eventually more, and now, most of the time, they spent days at a time at the other's house. To think that two years ago, they had only just met each other by the sadness in their life, and now, Dean was the absolute joy in his.

 

Turning, he flipped the handle to off, the water drizzling to a stop and spinning down the drain. The clink of metal against metal attacked his ears as he slid the liner and curtain aside, gingerly stepping out of the tub and onto the mat. Grabbing the towel from the bar next to him, he began to dry himself quickly, leaving his hair for last, as he hated it when the hair that came out got all over his body.

 

Rustling his hair between the sides of the towel, he rubbed it dry for a few moments, before draping the towel back over the bar. Exiting the bathroom, he turned to his left, heading for his walk-in closet to grab his work clothes. He was expecting it to be a boring day, as usual when working retail in a boring place.

 

The only light at the end of the dark and long tunnel was the fact that Dean was meeting him at the mall after work. Apparently, he was being courted to shit food from a restaurant in the food court, and then they were going shopping. Correction: Dean was going shopping, Castiel was being carted around like the supportive boyfriend he was.

 

It wasn't that he didn't like shopping, but at the moment, he was currently broke after paying all his bills, and to wander around stores you couldn't buy anything in was akin to torture. He'd do it for Dean, though, because for the past couple of weeks, his boyfriend had been complaining of a lack of well-fitted 'sexy clothing'. What the Winchester's definition of sexy was, he still didn't know. He was biased in thinking that the brunette was always sexy, but he had often been told otherwise.

 

A smile creeped its way onto his lips just thinking about seeing Dean after work. He was always put in a better mood, just being around the other man, and it made him feel more comfortable than he had around anyone in a long time. Sure, there was the comfort you had with your family, but Dean... Dean was someone that he never felt afraid to talk to, no matter the topic.

 

Perhaps afraid wasn't the correct term for that, because he felt anxiety over certain discussion they'd had to have, but he never hesitated in the decision to talk with his boyfriend. He didn't know what it was that caused him to feel that way with Dean, and he had been trying to figure it out ever since they had started dating. That was how he had known the Winchester was the one for him.

 

It had never been easy to talk about Gabriel's death, not even with his other brothers and sister, but with Dean, who at the time was a complete stranger, it just flowed. He had attributed it to him having been a stranger, but it stayed that way, even after they got to know each other, and then into the sexual aspect of their relationship. Everything was his idea of perfect with the Winchester, and he could only hope that the other felt the same.

 

Buttoning up his polo, he exited the closet, heading back into the bathroom to check his hair, which incidentally was exactly how he wanted it, and to brush his teeth. Finishing quickly, he splashed some water across his face, grabbing the hand towel on the corner of the sink, and drying his face and hands. Flipping the switch, the bathroom fell into darkness, and he left it, leaving the door open behind him.

 

Sauntering into the livingroom, he grabbed his shoes from beside the couch, plopping down on the end cushion. His feet slid into the shoes with ease, and he tied the laces into a perfect double knotted bow. Finishing up with his second shoe, he pushed away from the couch, heading towards the kitchen to make himself some toast. He didn't like to eat a heavy breakfast, as it never settled well in his stomach, and to go to work feeling sick was not the best idea. Plus, it just enticed the idea of a greasy McDonald's lunch that he'd undoubtedly be having later.

 

Within a few minutes, he had lightly buttered toast in one hand and his mouth, and keys in the other, the door closing as he turned to shove his key in the lock. Once he was satisfied that his house was now harder to break in to, he meandered down the three flights of concrete stairs to his car. It wasn't a very long trip to work, about 15 minutes, parking and actually entering the building included. Considering the time he had to arrive at work, he was fortunate enough to miss a bulk of the rush hour traffic.

 

The drive was uneventful, as usual, and he had parked and was inside, unlocking the gate to his store within his typical 15 minutes. Sliding the gate back down with a crash, he pulled out his cellphone as he headed to the backroom. He quickly typed a message to Dean, reminding him that he got off four, and to not be late. Pressing send, he pocketed his phone and pushed the heavy door open with ease.

 

The sensor chimed in its same annoying 'ding ding', causing him to roll his eyes as he flipped the switch for the backroom. It was instantly flooded with light, revealing the same expensive merchandise that was back there from the previous morning. Several phones, mainly iPhones, seemed to have been sold, just from an eye count, but he had to scan it all into the computer for the electronic copy that was immediately sent to their district manager.

 

His morning went by fairly quickly as he scanned on their back-stock and inventory into the system, all numbers checking out. Then he launched into the normal routine of checking the store email, and then opening the registers. It was an alright job, being a manager, but it was just too easy for him. He had the store ready to open about ten minutes before opening, so he had opted to relax in the back room for a moment, just mentally preparing himself for the day. He didn't have anyone coming in until about three hours into his shift, so it meant over-cleaning the store, procession shipment, whenever it arrived, and dealing with the most definite lack of customers.

 

Once the store was open, time seemed to travel twice as slow as a usual day, allowing him to focus on the anticipation of seeing Dean later. It was really the only thought that kept him going through the day, and even more so when he went on his breaks. About a half hour before his shift ended, time seemed to slow down even more, making work seem physically painful. His feet were starting to ache, and his lower back definitely ached, but that all seemed to melt away when someone walked into the store. That someone was Dean.

 

A grin spilled onto his face as he quickly exited from behind the counter, and pulled him into a hug once he reached him.

 

“Hey,” Dean said, offering a crooked grin as he pulled away. “How's work been?”

 

“Boring, as always, but hey, it's a paycheck, so I can only complain so much,” he responded, still smiling ear to ear. “How's your day been?”

 

“Slow. It's why I was able to get off work early. Go home and actually get cleaned,” the brunette responded, and he gave him a quick once over, noticing that he was indeed clean, and surprisingly well dressed.

 

“A bit dressy for a McDonald's date, don't you think?” he asked, arching an eyebrow as he fought back a smile and failed.

 

“Nah,” Dean said, giving his classic grin. The corners of his lips reached higher than the rest, giving him an almost cat-like grin, but it lit up his face like it was Christmas, and that's damn near what it felt like. He noticed Dean give himself a pat down, before cursing quietly to himself.

 

“I left my, uh, wallet in the car. I'll be right back!” Dean said, a slight tone of worry in his voice, but Castiel had no time to respond as he was pecked on the cheek and the Winchester was gone. It felt cold, suddenly, and he couldn't really explain it. Pushing the feeling aside, he headed back to the counter just as an email from district came in, alerting them of their current midday sales. Surprisingly enough, his store was doing the second best at the moment. He hoped it picked up later, but he wasn't going to stick around to find out. Seeing the clock say 3:59, he headed to the backroom to clock out. Once four struck, he punched his number in, and took off his name tag, shoving it in his back pocket.

 

He was all smiles and happiness as he exited the back room, waving to his co-workers and wishing him a better day as he headed towards the food court. It was a floor and a bit of a walk from his store, and he figured that Dean was already there, just waiting. He heard a loud noise, and then the mall seemed to fall into a hush, which took him a moment to register as wrong.

 

His face fell into a frown and lines as he pushed his walking speed, making it to the balcony over the food court just in time to see a man brandishing a gun, and waving it around recklessly. Panic rose in his chest as he prayed that Dean wasn't down there, that he was still at his car or somewhere else in the mall, but his eyes caught movement, which just happened to be his boyfriend.

 

'Dammit, Dean, no', he thought to himself, fear and anxiety creasing his forehead as he watched the brunette attempt to sneak up behind the man, but the sound of a gun ringing out caused him to flinch and slam his eyes shut. The sight he was greeted with when he opened them was enough to make him cry out, but he stayed silent with the rest of the people in the food court.

 

He couldn't see everything, but there was clearly blood splattered on a few tables, and a motionless foot peeking out from behind the body of the man standing on the table. A sharp, loud ringing in his ears deafened him to the rest of the world as it sank in that Dean was either dead or dying down there on the floor and there wasn't a single thing he could do.

 

Castiel didn't know when he had started crying, but his face was wet, and his breathing was shaky but quiet. The only thing that broke his stupor was the sounds of sirens, and the man freaking out below him, firing the gun over and over, until officers entered, shouting and eventually overpowering the man. He didn't know how long it took him, but he eventually made his way to the escalator, and down. He was stopped at the bottom by a cop, who was working with another to rope off the scene, but he quickly explained that the man shot was his boyfriend and he wanted to know if he was going to be okay.

 

Adrenaline and anxiety still coursed through his veins, which seemed to constrict when the officer's face fell and he glanced away. He seemed to stop breathing, his chest heavy, yet empty as he stared at the face of the man who was telling him his boyfriend was dead. He didn't know how or when he was led to a table, and sat down, and shortly after, the detective who, it seemed, was in charge of leading the assault on the shooter was sitting across from him, sliding a small sateen box across the table.

 

“This was on his person. If you're truly his significant other, you might want it,” the detective said, her voice soft and nonjudgmental. His breath hitched as he stared at the box, but he was unable to move to grab it and open it, already knowing what it was.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Castiel, how are you doing today?”

 

“Better might be an appropriate answer,” he replied. The woman sitting across from him had been suggested to him by Detective Mills as one of the best therapists around. He had been hesitant at first, but after two weeks without Dean, and the pure sadness that had engulfed him, he had decided that it was probably better to get help.

 

“Why do you say it that way?”

 

“What way?”

 

“That it 'might be appropriate'? Is there an inappropriate answer?”

 

“The truth,” Castiel said, looking away from her.

 

“And that is?”

 

“I'm still miserable, and I hardly function when I'm at home.”

 

“To be fair, I'd be surprised if you were any better than that. Mourning is a long phase, and it's harder on some people than others,” the redhead responded, giving him a sympathizing look.

 

“I think this is going to be more than a phase. He was the only person who got me out of the house, who ever got me to do anything,” he said, looking down at his lap as though it would mask his tears.

 

“Do you think he will be the only one?”

 

“It feels like it.”

 

“I understand that's how it feels, but do you _think_ that he will be the only one?”

 

“I hope he is the only one,” he said, feeling a little indignant at her questions. 

 

“Why?”

 

“Because he was the light to my dark rooms. The creativity to my art, the inspiration to my passions. He made a hard day easy and a bad day good, and a good day was the best day of my life with him. He was the one who made me value even the smallest things in life, and I would've had that for the rest of my life.”

 

“And now you won't. Are you going to let him keep you here? Do you want to spend the rest of your Tuesday evenings with me?”

 

“Have you ever thought about instances?”

 

“What?” she asked, a bit taken aback by that.

 

“Instances. The singular moments that change everything in your life?”

 

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

 

“Because every instance in my life that has changed me has involved Dean Winchester. I met him visiting my brother's grave, and if my brother hadn't died I'd have never met the love of my life. Dean... he taught me to look at everything without being negative, but how can I do that when the only positive thing in my life is gone?”

 

“Would he want you to look at his death as a negative?”

 

“Whether he would or wouldn't, doesn't make it any less so,” Castiel said, frowning a little. There was a moment of silence between them, both thinking of what they could say next. 

 

“I watched him die.”

 

Castiel found his words first. 

 

“I watched him try to save people, because that was the kind of man he was. He gave his life to save the rest of the people in that food court and I—“

 

He stopped, his words lost on him as the images flashed through his mind, the sounding of a gun banging off the inner lining of his skull like it'd just been fired. His whole body ached at the mental vision of seeing Dean's body strewn on the floor, thrown there by a bullet. 

 

“And you what?”

 

“I'm sitting here dishonoring that memory,” Castiel said, his voice quiet and broken. “I can never be anything close to the man he was or the man he molded me in to. I'm like the pottery he was working on, and he never got to put me in the kiln. So now I'm this fragile, dry and cracking clay model, waiting for the day I snap into a million pieces.”

 

“I would say you're doing exactly the opposite. You're not dishonoring his memory, Castiel. If you were, you wouldn't have come to me for help. There's still a part of you yearning to live on the way you did with him.”

 

“How do I do that without him?” Castiel asked, his voice cracking.

 

“Take it one day at a time, and eventually, it will just happen. That doesn't mean you're doing it alone. If you've got no one else, I'm here, but perhaps, and I simply offer this as a suggestion, you should reach out to your family, or try and make new friends. There are support groups where you can find people who understand what you've gone through, and those people sometimes make the best of friends.”

 

Castiel inhaled deeply, urging his anxiety and sadness back down into the pits of his stomach. Swallowing thickly, he gave a shallow nod at that, figuring he had to start somewhere. He couldn't disappoint Dean by reverting back to his hermit ways. He had a feeling that the Winchester was watching from somewhere, glowering at him for being so negative. It almost made him crack a smile.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty, so this is actually a rework of an old fic I did years ago, and that was a two parter from each respective person's point of view. So since we have Castiel here, I'm hoping I can get to Dean's perspective, but work is picking up considerably for the holidays, so I'm not sure. I hope you all enjoyed!


End file.
